My Diagnosis Story

On December 15, 2002, it was a great day to go into New York City. Two months earlier, for my birthday, my Aunt had surprised me with tickets to see an off-Broadway production of Blue Man Group. That morning, my mom, my aunt and I all ventured into NYC for a day of fun. I remember being filled with excitement and anticipation. Even when I was young, I always loved music and Broadway and shows. While my memories of that day are not specific, I can remember the way I felt. In between the joy of being in NYC at Christmastime, there were moments of discomfort, and frustration. I constantly felt thirsty, and just as soon as I was able to finish a glass of water, I had to go to the bathroom right away. This constant cycle repeated itself throughout most of the day.

We had lunch at Au Bon Pain. I think I had a turkey sandwich, a staple in my life at that age, and maybe I had some soup. The whole time, I drank nonstop. I felt like a fish out of water. No matter what I did, I was not satisfied, I needed more. With all of that water came a lot of trips to the bathroom. If you have ever been to New York, then you know how hard it is to find a public bathroom. By the time we got to the theater, I am sure I had worn my mom down quite a bit with my complaints. I remember waiting for the doors to open, wanting water so bad. My mom asked me to wait, to please be patient but I had become so tearful that she gave up and bought me the water with full knowledge that I would again, need to go to the bathroom soon enough.

I missed the last 10 or so minutes of the show. I had to go to the bathroom so badly, I couldn’t wait anymore. My mom got me up out of my seat and rushed me out of the auditorium, and when I was done, we waited for my aunt instead of going back inside. I started to get thirsty again as we left the theater and my mom decided to stop for a snack. In a little café, I drank an entire bottle of water in a matter of minutes before we were able to pay, and then got a piece of chocolate cake. I remember my mom describing my eating as ravenous, like I hadn’t eaten anything that entire day. I continued to drink water, so much water, and complain about needing to go to the bathroom. My mom by this time had realized that something was wrong. When we left the café to head towards the train station to go back home, she said my face turned grey.

When we got home an hour or so later, my mom was on the phone with my pediatrician. Ketone strips? What are those? My mom handed me a small white strip with a beige colored square on the end and told me to pee on it. I had no idea what was going on, but I did as she asked and when I handed her the strip, the square had turned such a dark purple that it almost looked black. My mom had me in the car about 10 minutes later, and we were on the way to the emergency room with the promise that the pediatrician would meet us there.

I don’t remember much from when I got to the hospital. I just remember sitting on a bench and getting my finger pricked, and that it hurt really bad. I remember the machine spitting out the number 500 and not knowing what it meant. I remember being given coloring pages and crayons. I remember being started on an IV through a vein in my left hand, and the nurse wrapping pink tape around it. I remember another nurse trying to get blood from my finger with what looked like a sewing needle, digging through my finger so much that I screamed. I remember my mother crying.

At 10:00pm that night, my parents and a doctor told me that I had Type 1 Diabetes, that there was no cure, and that I would have to live with it for the rest of my life. I was 9 years old.